


naught can ye win but by faith and daring

by Ladybug_21



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen, Political Campaigns, Politics, Servants, Socialism, Women's Suffrage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: After the King and Queen's visit, Daisy Mason—still blazing with anti-monarchist zeal—talks politics with Tom Branson, gets rid of her annoying fiancé, bids Downton a fond farewell, and stands for Parliament.
Relationships: Albert Mason & Daisy Mason, Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes, Daisy Mason & Beryl Patmore, Daisy Mason & Tom Branson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	naught can ye win but by faith and daring

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I spent a few hours today watching the recent _Downton Abbey_ film (remotely! via shared Skype screen! because social distancing!). And the moment that Andy Parker scornfully proposed that Daisy run for Parliament, we were both like, "YES, that sounds about right, ditch this loser and go let your most badass revolutionary self shine, Daisy!"
> 
> I obviously own no rights to _Downton Abbey_. And the title of this story is taken from "The March of the Women" by Ethel Smyth and Cicely Hamilton, which was adopted as the anthem of the UK women's suffrage movement.

"I've got to tell you something, Daisy," Andy confessed, pulling his fiancée away from their colleagues' exuberant toasts. "It was me that broke the pump. I don't know what I was doing. I was just in a jealous rage."

" _Why?!_ " demanded Daisy, her eyes narrowed disdainfully.

"It was that plumber you made eyes at," explained Andy. "I just saw red. And then, when I realised I'd brought him back to the house, I went nearly mad."

"I did not _make eyes_ ," Daisy insisted. "I liked him, but there was nothing more to it."

"I feel a fool now," muttered Andy.

"You tried to wreck the visit of the King of England," Daisy enumerated, "you risked being sacked, you risked ruin, just for the love of me?!"

"My feelings took over. That's all I can say." Andy shot Daisy a bashful glance. "Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you?" Daisy scoffed. " _No_ , you daft idiot! Here Mr Carson had all of us working _so hard_ to make sure everything ran smoothly, and you go and destroy the water heater _again_? Did you not hear any of the maids talking about how heavy those pitchers of water were, to carry up and down the stairs?! If someone had gotten hurt, it would've been all your fault."

"Well, I... I didn't think..."

" _Clearly_ , you didn't."

Daisy made a noise of disgust and brushed past Andy, who caught her hand.

"Daisy, it was all because I love you!" Andy insisted. "I love you, and I'm ready to get married. _That's_ my big dream, Daisy. Isn't it yours? Isn't it enough for you?"

Daisy sighed and gently pulled her hand away from Andy.

"No," she said. "No, it's not."

Mrs Patmore watched from across the servants' hall as Daisy ducked out the nearest doorway. She made her way over to Andy.

"I don't understand it, Mrs Patmore," Andy sulked. "I still love her, more than I ever have, and she won't even give me the time of day!"

"Ah, well, sometimes relationships need a little room to breathe, you know," Mrs Patmore shrugged.

"But she never even _talks_ about the wedding anymore!" Andy moped. "I can't think of anything else, and she doesn't care!"

"I've tried talking to her," Mrs Patmore confessed, "but you know what they say about leading horses to water."

"Should I just give up, then?" Andy asked.

When Mrs Patmore didn't respond, he too ducked out of the servants' hall, leaving Mrs Patmore to shake her head before wandering back over to join Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes and the others in another round of toasts to the restored honour of the Downton staff.

* * *

Tom always enjoyed a brisk morning walk around the grounds at Downton, and most everyone knew it. So Daisy was waiting on a bench when the erstwhile driver appeared, whistling a tune to himself.

"Mr Branson," she said, rising.

"Good morning, Daisy," Tom replied, doffing his hat. "How're things?"

"Fine, thank you," replied Daisy.

When Tom glanced at the space next to her on the bench and raised his eyebrows, she nodded, and they both sat. Daisy appreciated that, unlike his in-laws, Tom did not feel the need to sit ramrod straight whenever in public; she tried to mimic how he managed to relax into the contours of the bench without slouching.

"Rumour's had it for some time now that you and Andy are set to be married," Tom said.

"Oh, that." Daisy sighed, crossed her arms, and glanced away across the expanse of emerald lawns. "At some point, yes."

"Aren't you excited?" Tom pressed.

"I've been married once before, Mr Branson, and I wasn't all that excited then, was I," Daisy reminded him.

"Right you are," Tom acknowledged, before adding, "and please, Tom's fine."

"Tom, then." Daisy dug a dent into the gravel below the bench with one toe. "Can I ask you a question about politics, Tom?"

"Only if you don't see His Lordship anywhere in sight," Tom joked. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, you see, I think I've become a republican," Daisy confessed in a low voice. "Mr Carson's furious at the very thought; but the whole time Their Majesties were at Downton, I couldn't help but think, why should I treat _them_ like they're anything special? They're so helpless that they require _two_ sets of staff to keep them clothed and fed! And it makes no sense, you know, that they should live in a series of grand, fancy estates across the country, living off of our tax money, and not doing a thing to have earned it."

"They do provide a face for the people to love," Tom pointed out, for the sake of playing devil's advocate. "A focus point for national unity, as it were."

"Well," sniffed Daisy, "I don't see why the Prime Minister couldn't be that. The Americans seem to get by just fine with their elected officials, after all."

Tom smiled appreciatively.

"Do you feel the same way about His Lordship?" he asked her, more curious than accusatory.

Daisy considered this for a moment.

"I know I should, but I don't," she said finally. "And I don't just say so because they're your family. The fact is, I've lived here most of my life. I can't imagine a world without Lord and Lady Grantham. I can't imagine how my days would look without Mrs Patmore, and Mrs Hughes, and all the rest of the staff, rushing about to help the estate function. And so I can't feel disdain for the Crawleys, even when I should. Does that make any sense?"

"More than you will ever know," laughed Tom. He glanced searchingly at Daisy. "You know, I have some books that might interest you. Although it's probably best if neither His Lordship nor Mr Carson know that you have them."

"Are they dangerous?" gasped Daisy, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Only to people who consider egalitarian change dangerous," winked Tom. "They're the type of books that ruffle feathers, not the type that foment rebellion. You remember the days of my revolutionary youth, Daisy, but I like to believe I've gained enough perspective to know that the world can be changed for the better with ballots, not bullets. Meet me here tomorrow?"

Daisy nodded, barely concealing her jubilation.

"Thank you, Tom," she whispered, and he smiled as she practically leapt off the bench and raced back towards the house.

* * *

"What would you think if I ran for public office?" Daisy asked one evening, flipping over several pamphlets, her dinner all but untouched.

Old Albert Mason laughed, his eyes crinkling fondly at his daughter-in-law.

"I'm _serious_ ," Daisy said, glancing up at him. "There's a local special election this year, and I don't want to stay in service forever."

"Well, you'll always have this place," sighed Mr Mason, glancing with quiet pride around his little house. "I do expect you to come live here one day, you know, whether or not I'm still around to enjoy your company."

"As long as you and Mrs Patmore are carrying on like lovebirds, I'll stay a polite distance away, thank you," replied Daisy with a grin. "Here to Westminster seems like enough space, don't you think?"

"Daisy, my dear," said Mr Mason seriously, folding his hands and leaning forward. "People like you and me, they don't become _politicians_. You know I believe that you can do whatever you set your mind to, but..."

"But what?" said Daisy defiantly.

"Well, you're a lass," chuckled Mr Mason, "and a former scullery maid. Now, I know you've got your head screwed on straighter than most of those blackguards in Parliament, but you can't be an MP unless you win enough votes, and people like us? We don't win votes."

"That's where you're wrong," Daisy insisted eagerly. "Mr Branson's been giving me all this information to read. Since 1918, women over the age of twenty-one have had the right to stand for office, and some of them have, and not _all_ of them have been the daughters of earls and dukes. The MP for Wallsend's the daughter of a lacemaker and worked as an apprentice to a draper!"

"Is that so." Mr Mason took the pamphlet that Daisy was brandishing at him, looked it over, and handed it back with a grave nod. "Well, we'll have to start working on how to make you electable, then, won't we?"

* * *

"You know what I find bewildering?" Daisy challenged Tom one morning, as they sat on their bench. "The fact that I can stand for Parliament, and yet I don't have the right to vote because I don't meet all of the qualifications. How does that make _any_ sense, that I might be trusted to write legislation without even being able to vote for myself?"

"It doesn't. As is the case for a lot of legislation, you'll find."

Daisy sighed in exasperation and leaned back against the bench.

"How's Andy?" Tom asked gently.

"Andy?" Daisy shook herself slightly. "He's well, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Tom smiled, bemused. "Aren't you still engaged?"

"Yes, but... but I hardly think of him anymore, Tom. I hate to admit it, but it's true. I spend my evenings reading Fabian Society pamphlets, and instead of dreaming about Andy, I dream about increasing the efficiency of public benefits delivery under an expanded social welfare state." Daisy wrinkled her nose as Tom tried and failed to hide a snort of laughter. "Well, and what about you? How's your correspondence with Miss Lucy Smith?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Shall we expect an announcement, sometime soon?" Daisy pressed, grinning.

"Oh, not before you announce your candidacy, I imagine," Tom replied airily.

Daisy's grin faltered.

"That's the trouble, though, isn't it," she sighed. "I think about running for office all the time, Tom. But I haven't the faintest idea how to do it, or even where to start."

"All right." Tom nodded. "Let's talk through this, then. You'd be a candidate who'd appeal to a number of different constituencies. You're a war widow whose husband gave his life to save his master's, which will win you sympathy across the board. You're a working class girl who's put in her years of scrubbing pots and scraping grates, and you're a budding socialist, which will earn you credit with all those that went on strike last year. At the same time, though, you've no ill will against the Crawley family, and I dare say that, despite your political leanings, they'd trust you to look out for their interests, more than they would most. You'll just need to learn how to tell your story well."

"But _how_ , Tom? I don't have a soapbox to stand on. And I certainly don't have any money to pay for printed materials or buttons or banners."

"No need for soapboxes when there are public meetings. You'll have to get used to speaking in front of people, and figure out how to connect with them, but that just takes practice. And as for funding?" Tom grinned. "Leave that to me."

* * *

"What do you _mean_ , you gave one of the servants twenty pounds to go run for office?" The Dowager Countess's head jerked back an inch as she stared at her guest in distaste.

"I think it's very admirable for the young woman to be fighting for her place in the world," Isobel maintained, her chin rising a little higher.

"Well, of course _you_ would," grumbled the Dowager Countess, "when have you _ever_ been opposed to a good fight?"

"Like it or not, Cousin Violet, the age of estates like Downton is on the decline," Isobel pronounced. "Daisy's a smart and motivated young person who's worked hard her whole life, and she deserves a chance to make her voice heard, like we all do!"

"Indeed," replied the Dowager Countess archly, "although it would be a great mercy if some voices were heard at more of a _sotto voce_ than a bagpipe's blare."

"She's not a bad candidate," Isobel added. "She's done her homework, when it comes to economic theory, even if it might be a little radical for your taste. In fact, much as she supports government regulation of public benefits, she's far from a raving Marxist, out to snatch Downton from the clutches of your family. She might even be more sympathetic to your state than most."

"My dear," bristled the Dowager Countess, "just because she managed not to slip poison into my sherry, during all those years she spent in the kitchens at Downton, it does _not_ mean she looks fondly on people like me."

"Hmm, I wonder why that could be," muttered Isobel.

"And why does she _want_ to be in Parliament?" continued the Dowager Countess. "What ever happened to the old days, when servants _knew_ their place?"

"And didn't marry one's granddaughters, you mean?" retorted Isobel.

"Oh, don't bring Tom into this, my dear, weaponising your adversary's family in a debate demonstrates a distinct lack of class."

"She's making the expansion of women's suffrage the centre of her platform." Isobel sat back with a pleased smirk. "Wants to remove the property requirement for women and lower the voting age from thirty to twenty-one. You can't argue too much against _that_ , not when it means that more brains like your granddaughter's are taking part in each election?"

"Do drink your tea before it gets cold," grumbled the Dowager Countess as a veiled concession, and Isobel, with a slight toss of her head, complied.

* * *

"So, you're really leaving us?"

Daisy had expected that this would be a difficult conversation, and she found herself quite unable to respond. Mrs Hughes smiled as Daisy nodded instead.

"Well, we wish you nothing but the best of luck," said the housekeeper graciously. "It's been a pleasure watching you grow into the young woman you are now, Daisy. I think I can speak for more than just myself, when I say that."

"Please thank Mr Carson for me?" Daisy whispered, and Mrs Hughes nodded.

A knock sounded at the door, and Thomas entered without waiting for Mrs Hughes to reply.

"Her Ladyship's calling for you, Mrs Hughes," he said, stepping aside to let the housekeeper pass. "You all right, Daisy?"

Daisy quirked a little half-smile at Thomas and nodded.

"Ah." Thomas glanced at the letter of notice that Mrs Hughes had left on her desk, then back at Daisy. "Have you told Mrs Patmore yet?"

"She knows," said Daisy.

"Have you told _Andy_ yet?" When Daisy shook her head, Thomas rolled his eyes. "Oh, for god's sake, Daisy, just _tell_ the man that you don't love him. He's never going to move on, if you don't."

Daisy opened her mouth to ask when it had ever been Thomas's place to give out romantic advice, but she thought about Jimmy Kent and how he and Thomas had eventually made amends, and decided against it.

"I will," she said instead. "Thank you, Mr Barrow."

Thomas held the door for her.

"And good luck to you, Miss Mason," he added.

Andy was polishing silver when Daisy found him.

"There you are," he said shortly when Daisy appeared. "Haven't seen you in about a fortnight."

"That's what I wanted to discuss." Daisy waited for Andy to stop polishing silver and actually look at her, but he didn't. "Andy, we're not _right_ for each other. Maybe we've both got big dreams, but they're not the _same_ big dreams, and what's more, I don't think that they're big dreams that are ever going to go together."

Andy's polishing cloth had slowed gradually to a halt, and he finally set the silver pitcher he was polishing down on the table.

"So that's it, then?" he said quietly, still not looking at Daisy.

"That's it," Daisy nodded. "You're a good man, Andy, and I have no doubt you'll make some young woman very happy one day. I'm just not that young woman."

Andy exhaled slowly.

"I'm leaving Downton," Daisy added. "Finally following my dream of standing for Parliament. I won't ask you to wish me luck, but I hope you know that I'm wishing you all the best."

Andy continued to stare silently at the table, and Daisy finally sighed and left him there.

She was almost to the servants' door when a figure bustled past her and blocked Daisy's means of egress.

"You wouldn't dare walk out of these doors for the last time, without saying goodbye!" sobbed Mrs Patmore, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Oh, Mrs Patmore!" Daisy shrugged helplessly. "It's not like you won't see me all the time, you know."

"I know, I know, but it won't be the same, now, will it?" Mrs Patmore smiled at Daisy through her tears. "I can remember like it was yesterday, when you was just a little thing, puzzling over how to light the fires in the mornings..."

"But I'm all grown now," Daisy reminded her gently. "And it's time for me to go find my place in the world beyond Downton."

"Of course, love." Mrs Patmore engulfed Daisy in a fierce embrace. "You be sure to visit me and Mr Mason as often as you can, you hear? I'll make sure you're feeding yourself properly."

"Don't worry," Daisy laughed, rolling her eyes. "If there's one thing I know how to do in my sleep, Mrs Patmore, it's make myself a world-class soufflé."

* * *

"Elsie, have you seen this?" Mr Carson scowled down at his morning paper, his dark brows bristling.

Mrs Hughes took the paper from him and skimmed it, her expression shifting from puzzlement to delight as she read.

" _A previously obscure, but rapidly rising star of the Labour Party, with a charming and dynamic oratory style that combines tales of her life in service with an optimistic vision for the future of the working class_ —well!" she exclaimed, handing the paper back. "I never expected our Daisy to be such a dark horse in this race!"

"I never expected our Daisy to be _standing for Parliament_ ," Mr Carson rumbled.

"I told you that she left Downton," Mrs Hughes began.

"Yes, and you somehow _neglected_ to mention that she was leaving Downton to get involved in _politics_."

"Well, now you know," shrugged Mrs Hughes, spreading jam onto her scone.

Mr Carson stared at her.

"How can you be so calm about all of this?"

"On the contrary, I couldn't be more excited." Mrs Hughes's eyes twinkled. "You know, I've never exercised my right to vote, but I think I just may this time. After all, I'm well over the age of thirty and married to a landowner, and since Mrs Patmore fails the latter qualification, I owe it to her to cast my vote for both of us, don't you think?"

"You will do no such thing," grumbled Mr Carson.

"I will _absolutely_ go support a spirited young woman who dedicated over fifteen years of service to Downton, whether you like it or not," replied Mrs Hughes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mr Carson finally burst out. "That _this_ was why Daisy left."

"Oh, Charlie." Mrs Hughes smiled patiently at her husband. "Because I _knew_ you wouldn't approve of Daisy's standing for office. You barely managed to accept poor Tom Branson, as it is, and he couldn't be more of a credit to the Crawley family."

Mr Carson sighed.

"I can't help it if I still find it _jarring_ to see things changing so rapidly," he admitted. "But, I suppose if someone has to blaze trails into the unknown, I'd rather it be one of ours."

"Good." Mrs Hughes poured herself another cup of tea. "Well, I won't demand that you come cast your own vote for Daisy, but I'll expect you not to say another word against my doing so."

And Mr Carson, with a grumble of assent, took his paper back up and continued to read.

* * *

"Well, this certainly has to be a first," sighed Robert, pacing about the drawing room. "Hosting our former scullery maid, as a guest of honour! The year 1927 is indeed a most brave new world."

From the couch where they sat, Mary and Tom exchanged a bemused glance.

"Maybe I'm letting my most American side show, but I think it's a very generous gesture," Cora replied with her typical calm. "To think that she'll get to enjoy all of the dishes that she used to prepare for us!"

"A true rags-to-riches story," Mary smiled. "I'm surprised Isobel's not coming, I would have thought she'd want to revel in the success of her investment."

"Investment?" Robert wheeled on his daughter, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, investment?"

"Didn't you know? Granny told me that Isobel provided the initial funding for the campaign."

"Of course she did," Robert muttered, turning back around to stare moodily out of the darkened window.

"Isobel said that Miss Mason came to hers for lunch, and stayed several hours after," Cora explained.

"Plotting the revolution, no doubt," Mary added, with a glance at Tom. "Well, it's our job to win her to our side tonight. If she ever bothers to show up, that is."

"If I may?" Thomas interrupted politely from the corner. "Miss Mason is downstairs, saying hello to the staff."

"Ah." Robert's eyebrows bobbed upwards, but he looked as if nothing could truly surprise him now. "Please let her know that we wait on her pleasure, Barrow."

"I'll go," said Tom, and he pushed himself off of the couch and strode through the door before Thomas could beat him to it.

Daisy was standing in the servants' hall in a fetching burgundy suit and matching cloche hat, laughing at something that Anna had just said. Upon Tom's arrival, the air suddenly filled with the sound of chair legs scraping against stone.

"Oh, please, sit down, all of you," grinned Tom. "They're all waiting on you upstairs, Miss Mason."

"Thank you, Mr Branson," smiled Daisy with a slight nod.

It wasn't as if Daisy's accent had changed, or her chipper energy. But Tom sensed a difference in the former scullery maid, beyond the fashionable suit. The campaign trail had taught Daisy a subtle poise, instilled in her a quiet confidence that she had a story to tell, and that others would want to hear it. She had considered very carefully what little advice Tom could give her after each public meeting speech that he witnessed, polished her style, and learned to make her voice her own. Daisy Mason had dreamt a big dream—one too big to be contained by the tranquil stability of marriage, or even by the grandeur of Downton—and she had rushed forth and seized it with all her heart. Tom couldn't have been more proud of her.

"You'll come back and let me know if the food was up to your standards, won't you?" Mrs Patmore whispered to Daisy.

"Of course." Daisy looked out at the panorama of faces—her former colleagues, her friends, her found family—and then turned to the beaming cook. "I'm happy, Mrs Patmore. I don't often say that. But I am."

And, taking Tom's arm, Daisy Mason left the servants' hall, climbed the familiar stairs, and, after being announced by Thomas (who offered her a subtle half-smile as she passed), entered the glittering dining room of Downton Abbey.

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, I like to imagine that MP Daisy Mason would have had a hand in shaping the Equal Franchise Act 1928, which established universal suffrage for both men and women over age 21, regardless of property holdings. And that she would spend the rest of her political career between Yorkshire and Westminster, meeting interesting people and developing radical ideas, while still maintaining very cordial relations with the Crawleys and (of course) with their servants. Also, for anyone wondering, Isobel's generous gift of £20 is worth about £1,265 at modern [inflation rates](https://www.bankofengland.co.uk/monetary-policy/inflation/inflation-calculator), so, not as insignificant of a donation as it might seem.


End file.
